


Biscuit Tin

by helico_pter



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Roommates, if you can call it that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24590494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helico_pter/pseuds/helico_pter
Summary: It's not enough that Yuri has problems on his own, such as a problematic crush on a straight roommate and a power outage, but he also has to solve Katsuki and Viktor's problems as well.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 67
Kudos: 237





	1. Blizzard Conditions

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Коробка с печеньем](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29581155) by [WTF Kumys 2021 (fandom_Kumys_2018)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Kumys_2018/pseuds/WTF%20Kumys%202021)



> Truly, I am trapped in a lawless post-canon AU wasteland.
> 
> I wanted to write something more light-hearted, and [Moony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moony/pseuds/annathaema) suggested uni flatmates.

“My turn. Three points if I land this. Open up.”

At the other end of the bed, Otabek obediently opens his mouth. Yuri tosses the piece of popcorn at him, but it bounces off Otabek’s cheek instead of going into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Yuri says and slumps back. “Okay.”

Otabek runs his fingers through the popcorn bowl resting on his stomach and picks a handful, which he drops into his own mouth, although some fall to the wayside. He chews loudly, and Yuri stews in his own failure and the gross chewing noises.

“Four points,” Otabek says finally, picking his game piece.

“We’ll see,” Yuri challenges and opens his mouth.

Otabek’s been landing his shots consistently but it’s dark now, and Yuri tilts his head back to make the angle more difficult. Fuck Otabek and his perfect aim.

“You think that’s a good play?” Otabek questions.

“200 IQ for sure,” Yuri asserts. He shoves at Otabek with his foot, hoping to hurt his aim further. “Come on.”

“Okay, you asked for this,” Otabek says. He grabs Yuri’s ankle and pulls Yuri off the pillows, while moving up to cover Yuri’s mouth with his hand, sending the popcorn piece into Yuri’s throat and Yuri into a coughing fit. His popcorn bowl flies off in the midst of his convulsing limbs and seeds the whole room with kernels.

“…Fuck me, Altin,” Yuri croaks, when he recovers enough to speak. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Otabek tosses some more popcorn at his own mouth, spilling most of it in the process. He falls back onto his own pile of pillows, becoming part of the darkness lit only by the moving picture on Yuri’s laptop. “For four points and the game?” Otabek says. “I might consider it.”

Yuri’s coughs turn into laughter. “You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

“Not sure I should take criticism from someone in a cat onesie,” Otabek says. He’s slouched down so far against the pile of pillows his chin is against his chest.

“It’s called a pyjama,” Yuri gasps and launches himself up to grab a fistful of popcorn from Otabek’s bowl, showering Otabek with them. Otabek catches as many as he can into his mouth and chews with his mouth open.

“It’s got a hood with ears on it,” Otabek points out. He sits up just as Yuri goes to slump back down and upends the whole bowl onto Yuri.

“You fuck!” Yuri tries to deflect the waterfall of popcorn and ends up sending more across the bed and the room.

“Now who’s going to clean this?” Otabek drops the bowl and catches Yuri, pushing his knuckles against Yuri’s sides. Yuri squirms and laughs, pulling his legs up to protect his ticklish underbelly just like a cat would.

“Not me!” He struggles with the sheets and the pillows and Otabek until he’s tickled breathless and pink.

“But I won,” Otabek says. “I had ten points. And it’s your room. So you clean.”

Yuri gulps on air, like after a full-body orgasm. He’s lodged his feet against Otabek’s stomach and pushes at him. “Get lost, Altin,” he pants. “You made me spill.”

“You made _me_ spill,” Otabek replies, running his fingers up and down Yuri’s ribs like he was playing a xylophone.

“You tried to kill me!” Yuri argues, but recognises his argument is weakened by the laughter he can’t keep from bubbling out in great, big mouthfuls. He’s hoarse from the combined effects of almost inhaling the popcorn, trying to fight off Otabek, and the laughing.

“I was just playing the game,” Otabek says with such disarming sincerity that Yuri almost forgives him on the spot, until he caresses and then pinches Yuri’s ear.

“Get out!” Yuri bellows and kicks Otabek off the bed. He falls with a thud and a crunch onto the spilled popcorn on the floor, then gets up as if nothing had happened.

“Night, Yura,” Otabek says calmly and crosses the dark room, more popcorn crunching underfoot. Yuri hears him mutter _ow_ behind the door as he walks into something. The power’s been out for a full day now, thanks to a blizzard.

Yuri catches his ragged breath, unwinding his legs onto the bed, ignoring the mess. His legs had performed the double duty of protecting his belly from Otabek and protecting Otabek from Yuri’s hard-on.

Rooming with Otabek is _exhausting_. But it’s not Otabek’s fault Yuri’s a gay mess and has a habit of falling for the worst possible choice every time. Usually a straight boy.

Yuri closes his laptop, shutting off his only source of light, to preserve whatever battery life he still has left. He kicks most of the popcorn to the floor to clear a space to sleep in. The onesie’s zipper goes down to crotch level, and Yuri takes advantage of that so he doesn’t have to undress all the way.

Within two seconds of falling asleep—or that’s how it feels—Yuri awakens to a knock and footsteps in his room. His bed dips as he fights the lethargy of sleep and the very cold morning.

“Yura,” Otabek says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “The water’s off.”

Yuri pulls up his blankets. “So? It’s off at least twice a month,” he mumbles. Wonders of Russian dorm life.

“Yeah, but it’s freezing,” Otabek says. “So it’s been off for hours.”

Yuri’s breath curls up as a white cloud, proving Otabek’s point. He uses his blanket as a cape as he gets up to check the radiator in his room because the cat onesie is thin. The radiator’s so cold it burns his fingers when he touches it. The dorms are heated by water, not electricity. He yanks his hand away. “Shit.”

The yard is dark too, only lit by the unearthly blue glow of snow and moonlight. There are lights in the distance, but the campus utilities are notoriously unstable and often fail. It’s nothing new, but it’s terribly unpleasant and impractical when it’s January and -15°C outside at best.

“Well, we have a gas stove,” Yuri says and stumbles back into bed, fingers and toes already stiff. Otabek lies down next to him, borrowing a side of his blanket.

“That doesn’t charge my Switch,” Otabek says.

“Shit,” Yuri says again. His phone and laptop are bleeding battery too, although soon they’ll be cooled to nice, crisp double digits below zero.

“It’s Friday,” Otabek adds.

“Aw, fuck,” Yuri mutters. “Nothing gets done on the weekend.”

“Toilet’s literally frozen.”

Yuri doesn’t want to know how Otabek had found that out, but it does make him want to knock himself out. Instead, he grabs his phone—the last 10%—and takes in the time. It’s only 7am. It won’t be light in two more hours. He doesn’t have Friday classes so he doesn’t even have the luxury of leaving the dorms, although with state of the campus, power and water are probably out everywhere.

Yuri taps his fingers against his phone, thinking until Otabek shivers contagiously. “Library’s still out?”

“I think everything’s still out.”

Yuri measures his thoughts in taps. Five. “I suppose you don’t have any family here.”

“International student, remember?”

Two. “Friends?”

“Not ones in any better position than us.”

Ten, with matching, uncontrolled shivering from both of them. “Okay, so, here’s what we do,” Yuri says then, sitting up. “Katsuki.”

“Yeah, still take his Japanese classes.”

“Right. Well, he’s- And I’m not proud of this,” Yuri mutters through teeth that are beginning to clatter. “But he’s my cousin’s husband, and he said I could visit anytime. I actually stayed with them a while before I moved in here, with you.”

Otabek chuckles weakly. “That’s real big brain thinking. Why’s that something you’re not proud of?”

“My cousin- He’s not even really my cousin, but he’s kind of an asshole.” Yuri wears his blanket as he starts to gather his things. He could deal with the power being out, with not having access to the fridge or the microwave, but he draws the line at frozen toilets and, most likely, frozen and burst water mains.

“Still.”

“I’m not proud of having to go ask them for help! Viktor’s gonna hold this over my head forever.”

Otabek wraps his arms around himself. “Glad to be an instrument of your downfall.”

“Go fucking pack your bags. Oh, and grab your laundry. No paying for a shitty student laundromat at their place.” Yuri piles on clothes on top of his onesie and fills a bin bag with the rest of his laundry. Schoolbooks, chargers and all electronics go into his backpack. Despite the activity, he’s still shivering by the time he’s done.

Otabek has followed a similar train of thought and is wearing at least two sweatshirts under his coat as well as dragging a bin liner bursting with plaid. “I got three lab reports to finish,” he says. “Are you bringing your genetics books?”

“I need them myself,” Yuri says as they shove on their boots across from each other in the little foyer. “I got studying to do too, Megamind.”

“I’m not bringing mine,” Otabek says, hauling up his laundry and two backpacks, one on each shoulder.

Yuri drops the cat-eared hood of his onesie to replace it with a beanie. “Whatever, Altin,” he says. “You can have them when I’m done.”

It’s chaos outside their door, and the narrow corridor is even worse to get through than normal. It’s not only dark but also blocked by people, talking in a variety of languages and raised voices. Waking up in a freezing dorm does that to people.

“The water main’s burst,” someone says as Yuri pushes past them. “Froze ‘cause the electricity went off and ruptured.”

“Yeah, I figured that out. Get out of my way,” Yuri replies.

“Do we still have classes if there’s no power for the second day in a row?” someone else says. “There’s no notice. I can’t get to my email. The school servers must be down.”

“It’s like the end of the world!” Yuri huffs when they get downstairs and through the previously electric lock of the dorm building. Good thing it opens instead of locks when the power goes out.

“If my phone dies, it _is_ the end of the world,” Otabek says.

“Losing your ability to shitpost anonymously is not grounds for declaring end of the world.” Yuri says. The outside smells like junipers and metal as they slog through the barely cleared pathways towards public transport. Some snow is still falling, but the wind is mostly gone.

“Porn would be gone too,” Otabek says, amused.

“Listen, you piece of shit,” Yuri says and two-hands his laundry bag to hit Otabek with it. “I know the kind of degenerate catgirl shit you wank to-”

Otabek parries with one backpack. “Yeah, so? Who doesn’t want a catgirl of their own?”

“Oh, now I know why you’re in med school,” Yuri grunts.

“Well, creating one might become possible soon, right?” Otabek says rhetorically and swings around to thwack Yuri in the back with his laundry. It sends Yuri stumbling into a snowbank. It’s just a coincidence he’s dressed up as a cat half the time and treasures the headphones with cat ears on the band even if the sound quality is shit. It’s just a fucking coincidence that Otabek smiles when Yuri wears the onesie, and it’s just bad sound-proofing which leads Yuri to hear when Otabek is watching his favourite hentai films.

“You’re a real Mister Sinister, Beka,” he complains, getting up. “Catgirls are a fucking abomination. Ah, shit, there’s the bus.” He springs up and sprints towards the bus stop, slipping and sliding across the icy path, Otabek just behind him.

“Genetics fascinate me,” Otabek says, a little out of breath when they slump into the back of the bus to avoid the other passengers. It’s not warm inside, but it’s tons warmer than it’d been outside or in their dorm, and Yuri fingers tingle unpleasantly with the warmth. He’d be happy to be the subject of Otabek’s fascination, but he’s no match for anime girls whining _it’s too big_ _you’re breaking me in half_. Should’ve quit Japanese sooner.

“Like why do you have green eyes?” Otabek continues. The bus has a few lights, which is a hell of a lot more than the campus right now. The lights reveal the red of cold across Otabek’s nose and cheeks, which just makes his darker skin tone even more prominent. He takes off his beanie and runs his hand through his hair, trying to pat down the stiff faux-hawk.

Yuri scoffs vigorously. “Because my OCA2 gene has a polymorphism that makes it create less of P protein, and that combined with Tyndall scattering and the lipochrome pigment makes my eyes _appear_ green.”

“See? You don’t even need your genetics textbook,” Otabek says. What Yuri wants to know is how Otabek managed to win the genetic lottery so hard that he looks like he hit the jackpot face-first. Maybe it’s just his frustrated imagination.

“You know what, you can have it.” Yuri pulls up his backpack and digs out the tome, slamming it into Otabek’s lap. “Just make me a catgirl too.”

“Make you one or make you into one?” Otabek shoves the book into his laundry.

Yuri groans at the way too happy idea of being a catgirl for Otabek. “Either one. Surprise me.”

-

There are two transfers between their campus and Viktor’s sprawling detached house in the suburbs. By the time they get there, the sky has cleared and lightened, and the cleaner snow of the suburbs sparkles under the cold sun. Yuri has given up on carrying his laundry and is just pulling the plastic bag along behind himself when he spots a familiar, bundled-up figure by the roadside with a dog.

“Hey! Katsuki!”

Katsuki whirls around and lifts a hesitant hand to wave at them. “What’re you doing here?” he asks when Yuri sprints up to him.

“We need shelter,” Yuri says, bending down to pet Makkachin. Katsuki has a lot of weak spots, like animals and people in need. “We don’t have electricity or water at the campus. I don’t want to freeze my dick off.”

“Oh.” Katsuki digs in his pocket and hands the key to Yuri. “Just one thing, Yurio. Viktor’s still asleep so please be quiet when you go in.”

Yuri clutches the key like a lifeline. He’s not going to risk a heated place to sleep and probably a full fridge for anything. “Sure. I promise! Beka, come on.”

They hoist up their laundry and book it to the house. They enter as quietly as they can, although Otabek’s makeshift laundry bag impacts heavily with the tiled floor of the foyer when he drops it, and they both go still. Yuri holds up his hand when Otabek goes to pick it up, waiting to see if there’s going to be an explosion or not. Viktor gets cranky.

“Oh, Yuu~ri?” Viktor doesn’t sound irate as he walks into view from the kitchen, wearing fluffy slippers, an open robe and particularly obnoxious dog-patterned silk boxers. “You’re not my Yuuri!” he says as he spots them, Yuri and Otabek both frozen in awkward crouches as they’re trying to get their shoes off without making noise.

“Thank fucking God,” Yuri says.

“No, but this is my Yuri,” Otabek says at the same time.

Viktor pushes past them to the door and flings it open. “Yuuri!” he calls out.

“I’m your what?” Yuri hisses at Otabek, letting his boot drop to the floor.

“I’m here.” Katsuki hurries up to the door with the dog. “Makka-chan wasn’t done.”

“Why do we have guests this early?” Viktor asks. The dog sits obediently just inside the door, waiting for someone to wipe the snow from his paws. Yuri grabs his things and makes a run for it, pulling Otabek along.

“Act pitiful. If Katsuki feels sympathetic towards us he won’t let Viktor throw us out,” Yuri instructs Otabek in a hiss as they reach the guestroom.

“How do I-” Otabek stands foolishly in the middle of the floor, bin bag in one hand, backpack in the other.

“Just- I dunno, shiver or something.” Yuri gestures at him impatiently, scattering his things across the floor in his hurry to get to the outlet. Yuri connects his phone to the charger and crows happily when it dings to indicate its charging. “Electricity!”

Katsuki opens the door after a careful knock. His face is almost always hovering between worried and confused, but in a benign way. “You two have settled in?” he asks.

“You’re a lifesaver, Katsuki,” Yuri says. “You can tell Viktor we’ll go right back when they fix the water so he doesn’t have to bitch about it. It’s just _so_ cold there.” He clutches his arms around himself and shivers theatrically. It helps that they’re both wearing way too many layers of clothes, clumsily piled on in their hurry. In fact, they both look fucking ridiculous, but it works for them in this case.

“What’s your wi-fi password?” Otabek asks.

“Oh shit, good call,” Yuri goes to grab his laptop. “I need an extension cord too.”

Otabek snaps his fingers and points at him. “The cat speaks sense.”

Katsuki looks desolately around the previously clean room and wades through the spilled laundry bags to the chest of drawers. “We have some extension cords here,” he says, kneeling to go through the bottom drawer. “In case our guests need them. And the password is... ViktorLuvsYuuri.”

Yuri swallows the goblin cackle that builds up in his chest. “Thanks.” Otabek has a similarly pinched expression, but they both struggle through without laughing. They’re _guests_. Uninvited ones, but still. Viktor won’t have any reservations about kicking them out if they embarrass Yuuri.

Katsuki gives them another dejected look. “Come to breakfast,” he says.

“Fff, mhm.” Yuri nods his head, unable to talk in fear of laughing out loud. Otabek is very busy with unloading his books, back turned. His shoulders are shaking anyway.

They don’t quite burst out laughing when Katsuki steps out, leaving the door slightly open, but Yuri exhales a long hiss of pent-up air, and Otabek scrapes his teeth against his lips. Yuri doesn’t dare to look him in the eye until he’s calmed down, which conveniently takes the same time as taking off his extra clothes and reverting back to the cat onesie.

“It’s really sweet of them,” Yuri says. “They’re ridiculous, but sweet.”

“Are you a romantic, Yura?” Otabek’s lips are extra red and plump after being chewed on. He’s arranged his electronics in a descending order of importance: phone, Switch, laptop.

“I’m hungry.” Yuri dodges the question, collecting his delicates from his laundry to take the first shift at the machines. At this house no one is going to dump his wet clothes on the floor and take his machine in the middle of the cycle. Except maybe Otabek, that piece of shit.

There’s no sign of Viktor in the breakfast nook, or in the den, or anywhere on the way from the laundry room to the kitchen. Katsuki is making eggs.

“I hope you like eggs,” he says. “Viktor went back to bed.”

“Mornings still disappoint him?” Yuri sits at the kitchen island.

“Constantly,” Katsuki says and smiles tremulously.

“Especially this one?” Yuri snorts.

“Yes,” Katsuki says and scrapes the pile of softly scrambled egg onto three plates. “Ah, I hope Otabek likes eggs too?”

“I like free food.” Otabek slides onto the stool next to Yuri. He’s tied his favourite white and black plaid shirt around his hips, probably in an effort to look more dressed than he really is. He never seems to actually _wear_ the shirts.

“So what I’m hearing is that Viktor’s being a little bitch again,” Yuri tells Katsuki although he’s actually following Otabek’s habit of arranging things in his boredom. This time it’s the little cow-shaped salt and peppers shakers, the napkins and the cutlery, and finally the fruit in the bowl on the island top.

“His new novel isn’t coming along well and-” Katsuki stops, sighing heavily as he puts their plates down. “And I just miss him. He stays up all night and sleeps all day, and when he does wake up, he’s always cranky.”

“Listen.” Yuri collects his legs under himself on the stool, effectively kneeling on it so he can lean over the island to look Katsuki in the eye. “You’ve got to enforce some boundaries here.”

“But I don’t want to disturb him,” Katsuki mumbles.

“You do it with the dog, don’t you?” Yuri challenges. He picks up his fork and stabs it at the fork Otabek is trying to sneak onto his plate to steal his eggs.

Katsuki glances guiltily at Makkachin, resting in his spot by the vent of warm air in the kitchen. He instantly begins to wag his tail. “I’m not really good at that either.”

“You can’t let him make you sad all the time!” Yuri thumps his fist against the counter.

Katsuki fiddles with his eggs, then jumps up to grab the coffee pot. “Do you still drink coffee, Yuri? Otabek?”

“Yeah, sure,” Yuri says, frowning at him. He settles back onto his stool and gets into the eggs, only to have his eyes land on the suggestive display of a banana and some kiwi fruit Otabek has constructed. _Beka_ , he mouths at him and points at the fruit. Otabek doesn’t have the decency to look sorry.

“Do you have any classes today?” Katsuki asks, coming back with three cups and the pot.

“I don’t. Beka’s got lab all evening, though,” Yuri says. He reaches across the table to grab the banana out of the bowl. “But don’t worry, I’ll let him in if you’re already asleep when he gets back.”

“As long as it doesn’t bother Viktor.” Katsuki pours the coffee, unaware of the battle going on. Yuri bites into the banana and doesn’t even falter under Otabek’s smile, which is partly hidden in his palm as he leans his chin on his hand to watch Yuri eat.

“He won’t even remember we’re here,” Yuri mutters.

“Oh no, did you want fruit?” Katsuki says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think to offer. Please have anything you want. I have some classes to teach from noon onwards, but just make yourselves at home. Milk? Sugar?”

“Milk,” Yuri says.

“Sugar,” Otabek says.

Banana, coffee, and eggs don’t make for a particularly appetising combination, but like Otabek, Yuri’s favourite food is free food. Especially when their little fridge at the dorms is only full of empty, somewhat mouldy-smelling air after being unpowered for days.

“Can I take the coffee to the bedroom?” Otabek asks, stirring in the sugar.

“Yes, of course,” Katsuki says.

Otabek leaves without another word, walking carefully with his full cup. But it doesn’t stop him from flipping the cat-eared hood of Yuri’s onesie down on his way to stick his finger into Yuri’s ear. Yuri smacks him away.

“Get fucked!” Yuri hisses. Otabek gives him two fingers up.

“At least you two seem to be getting on well,” Katsuki says, and Yuri turns back in remorse. He always feels bad about using that kind of language in front of Katsuki. It’s not that he’s so delicate that he can’t take it, it’s just that he shows his disappointment, and then Yuri feels like an ass.

“Yeah, guess I owe you,” Yuri says, looking into his coffee as though it was going to explain everything.

“I didn’t do anything.” Katsuki smiles. “I just taught the class.”

“Don’t think you can change the subject,” Yuri warns, shaking his fork at Katsuki. “But Beka is amazing, and I would take a fucking bullet for him.” Yuri shovels eggs into his mouth to stop himself from saying more.

“We’re still on the subject of human relationships,” Katsuki says and takes off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Please just let me have something else to think about than Viktor for a moment.”

“Fine,” Yuri groans as if he isn’t dying to talk about Otabek. He pushes his empty plate away. Katsuki is still playing with his eggs, which is a sign of extreme distress in someone who usually comfort-eats when sad. Yuri, who doesn’t think Viktor deserved Katsuki in the first place, feels even less charitable towards his flamboyant semi-cousin.

“I think he likes you,” Katsuki says.

“As a roommate,” Yuri puts in because that’s all there is. As sore as that makes him.

Katsuki shrugs a little. “Do you want more eggs? You cleared your plate.”

“He’s straight. He’s taking Japanese so he can watch hentai without subtitles.”

“That’s more common than you think.” Katsuki nods. “Why do you think he’s straight?”

“Because it’s better to assume he is than to assume he’s not,” Yuri mutters. Katsuki picks up his plate and refills it. “Because he’s watching catgirl hentai and straight porn in general. Because it’s what I do. I fall for straight boys.”

“That could be a defence mechanism,” Katsuki says.

“Don’t psychologise me,” Yuri complains.

“Sorry. Occupational hazard.” Katsuki pauses, giving Yuri big, brown puppy eyes. “But you’re afraid of intimacy and go for relationships where that’s not challenged,” he adds quickly.

“Okay, we’re done talking about human relationships.” Yuri fills his mouth with more eggs and chews on them as much as he chews on the idea that Katsuki has just presented. It’s not actually entirely unfamiliar, but there’s no way Yuri is going to admit that. He’s learned from his mistakes to keep people at an arm’s length, and yes, that _might_ include having romantic feelings for unattainable people.

Katsuki sighs softly and picks up his coffee cup. Yuri recognises the way he stares into it, looking for answers. “You didn’t start taking Japanese because you wanted to understand anime, then?” he asks, taking Yuri declaration of closed topics of conversation seriously. It’s one of the things Yuri likes about him.

“No!” Yuri is disgusted. For someone with an ability to read other people, Katsuki is shit at dealing with his own problems. “I did it so I could talk to you. You were pretty pitiful when you first moved here.”

Katsuki’s forlorn eyes overfill and glisten. “Oh, Yurio.”

“No!” Yuri repeats, hopping off his stool. “If you’re gonna cry, I’m leaving. I have reading to do.”

“No crying!” Katsuki promises at once and probably entirely falsely in a squeaky voice. His chin wobbles, but he reins it in. Yuri pauses warily. It’s an uncomfortable scene he’s witnessed too many times in regards to Katsuki’s only ever vague hold on emotional expressions. And too many times it’s been about Viktor. It isn’t any better when it’s about Yuri.

“What’s that idiot done now?” Yuri mutters.

“You said no human rel-”

“I meant mine!” Yuri snaps.

“That’s a little unfair, don’t you think?” Katsuki has stemmed the flow of his emotions with coffee.

“Cry me a river,” Yuri scoffs. “It’s Viktor, isn’t it?” He hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary in the way Katsuki and Viktor had interacted just a little earlier at the door, but he was always ready to believe the worst about his pseudo-cousin.

“It’s not your problem,” Katsuki deflects. “Will you two be okay in the guest room? The bed is big, but…”

Yuri squirms, playing with the ear of his hood, thoughts skipping over back to his roommate. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine,” he says quickly.

“One of you could sleep in the den,” Katsuki continues. He tilts his coffee cup, again staring down into it disconsolately. Viktor’s house is on a single level, except for a small cellar, and sprawls like an outgrown garden, rooms sprouting in every direction. It’s fitting for someone as mercurial as Viktor. Yuri knows for a fact that Katsuki hates it.

“I’ll ask Beka,” Yuri says. He slumps over the kitchen island, crossing his arms on it and leaning his chin on them. “Hey, do you want me to yell at Viktor?”

Katsuki puts his cup down, the ceramic clinking against the marble top. “Would you like for me to talk to Otabek about you?”

Yuri knows mouthing off does him no favours. For one, it leaves him no other friends than narcissistic drama queens like Viktor who don’t care what people say, or sweet sponges like Katsuki who internalise all the abuse. A sphinx like Otabek is an outlier and must have a faulty wire somewhere, because why else would they get along so well? Second, it often leads to consequences. Ones which he just as often ignores.

Still. “I’m a little impressed,” Yuri admits. “You’re threatening me with actual consequences, Pork Cutlet!”

“Viktor and I aren’t your problem,” Katsuki says, now turning his cup around on the tabletop. The cup has little pink piglets painted on it, appropriately enough.

“Viktor makes himself everyone’s problem,” Yuri argues. Then his curiosity gets the best of him. “What would you tell Beka?”

“That you like him,” Katsuki says instantly.

“Ha! Well.” Yuri gets up, draining the rest of his by now tepid coffee. “I told him already. He said thanks.”

Katsuki deflates slightly. “I see,” he murmurs. “Of course. He’s not great with people, is he?”

“He’s _straight_ ,” Yuri says. “So he said thanks ‘cause we’re friends.” It’s a moment he’d like to forget, because he hadn’t been trying to profess the depths of his fancy, only to tell his roommate he’s a cool dude. There’d been no mention of the rainbows and kittens that Yuri suffers from around him, only a punch to the shoulder and a _I like you_ , and even so Otabek’s bemusement still comes to haunt Yuri at night.

“But face it,” Yuri continues lightly. “You wouldn’t really have had the guts to tell him anything anyway.”

“Probably not,” Katsuki agrees, shoulders slumping.

“But you _should_ have the guts to tell Viktor he’s making you unhappy.” Yuri grabs Katsuki’s arm across the island top. “And if you haven’t done it by the time the water’s fixed at the dorms, I _will_.”

“Yurio,” Katsuki pleads. “I’m not sure you’re in a position to hand out ultimatums.”

“Actually, I am,” Yuri snorts. “Unless you grow a pair of balls. Until that, you got nothing on me.”

Katsuki casts his sorrowful gaze down again. “Yes. You’re right.”

“Handle it!” Yuri grabs another banana and heads back towards the guest bedroom. They both know he’s a hypocrite, but Katsuki is the one who’s never going to blame him for it, being too much of an invertebrate. They have the same problem, not talking to people and suffering the emotional consequences of it. It makes them similar enough, although Yuri prefers to emote with anger and aggression and their children irritation, suspicion, hostility and infuriation, while Katsuki tends towards the more submissive section of the emotions wheel.

Yuri finds Otabek sitting on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed with headphones on and typing up a storm on his laptop. An open book and a few notebooks of scribbled notes lie in a mess around him, with one of them performing the role of a plate for the coffee cup. It’s already stained with spilled coffee too. Yuri throws the banana at him, hitting him square on the side of his head.

Otabek drops his headphones. “What?”

“Should I have brought the kiwi fruit too?” Yuri goes to drag out his own books and laptop.

“Yeah, if they’re shaved.” Otabek cracks the banana peel open and takes a bite.

“Oh yeah, fuck you.” Yuri laughs and settles down on the other side of the bed, deciding to take that as a joke instead of any declaration of preference. He’s read into things before, with unhappy results, so he tries not to read into the way Otabek looks at him when he puts on his cat-eared headphones and cranks up he music.

Time does not fly as much as it disappears into the endless, lightless hole that is medical academia. When the letters and figures begin to blur on his laptop’s screen, Yuri shoves it aside and rubs his eyes. He takes off his headphones and leans against the bed. Otabek is still sitting on the other side of the bed, head bent down towards his work.

Yuri crawls on the bed and stretches across it to look over Otabek’s shoulder, finding him playing Untitled Goose Game on his Switch instead of studying. “Beka.” He touches Otabek’s shoulder, making him start slightly.

“Yeah?” Otabek says, lifting one side of his headphones.

“Nothing much,” Yuri says. “Just need a break.”

Otabek unplugs his headphones to let Yuri listen to the game sounds with him and keeps playing. He doesn’t as much complete the objectives as he goes around terrorising humans and stealing everything that’s not nailed down. “Hey, Yura?” he says. “Can you do my laundry for me?”

“Fuck no,” Yuri says with a snort of laughter.

“But you’re not busy today.”

Yuri knocks his hand into the side of Otabek’s head, not hard, but hard enough to make his point. “We’re not married.”

“Babe. Ouch.” Otabek pauses his game and leans his head back to look up at Yuri, clutching at his chest dramatically. “We aren’t?”

“Don’t call me that,” Yuri says automatically, looking away. He could taste Otabek’s tongue right now, it’s practically being offered with how Otabek’s head is tilted and lips parted in anticipation of a smile. It comes on slowly, quirking the corners of Otabek’s mouth up and relaxing his eyes.

“But, babe,” he whines. “We live together.”

“In a dorm,” Yuri protests, but lazily, resting his chin on top of his arms. Sometimes it’s too easy to be swept up and play along, to think it means something when Otabek calls him _babe_ and makes that face, that smile.

“We share a fridge,” Otabek says but picks up his Switch again, unpausing the game. “And a bathroom.”

“But not a last name,” Yuri replies.

“So can you just do my shirts, then?”

“Ha _ha_. No, but I can do mine.” The load he’s put in the machine has probably been done for a while, so Yuri rolls off the bed and walks backwards out of the room so he can give Otabek the double middle-finger. Otabek pops his middle finger in and out of his mouth and lifts it in response.

Yuri waits until he’s in the laundry room, shoving his wet, clean things into the dryer before he opens his mouth. “Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, fuck, fucking _fuck_.” The laundry room is at the back of the house, nice and far away, and waiting for his hard-on to go down gives him plenty of time to separate his colours and get more laundry going. If he could turn into a catgirl he fucking would.

By the time Yuri is able to exit the oddly comfortable laundry room—a lime-and-raspberry scented haven of succulents—Katsuki has left to teach his classes, and the house is quiet. Yuri spies at least three different types of sitting rooms on his way back. The amount of rooms seems to have multiplied since he’s been there. He stops behind the door to Viktor’s study but it’s quiet there too, then gets up to speed to slide along the corridor towards the kitchen, where he bumps into Otabek, just exiting the kitchen.

“Got your laundry sorted out?” Otabek asks, an open backpack in one hand and a piece of toast in the other.

“Yeah,” Yuri snorts. “Hey, Katsuki said one of us can sleep in the den if we don’t want to share the bed.”

“Which one’s the den?” Otabek chomps down on the toast, leaving a perfect round bite on the corner. He shakes his head. “No point in making a mess in two rooms.”

“I know,” Yuri agrees, walking with Otabek to the front door, and watches him juggle his toast, boots, and backpack without offering to help. He’d known Otabek would see it from his point of view, even if it’s also kind of bittersweet in that they’ll be sharing a bed for now. As just friends. “Call me if you get lost coming back.”

“Cool,” Otabek says, putting on his coat.

“Or if you go out and come back super late. I don’t wanna bother Katsuki.”

“I got it,” Otabek says, shoving the rest of the toast into his mouth. “See you, Yura,” he sprays crumbs with his words.

“Fuck right off,” Yuri laughs, brushing the crumbs off his onesie. Otabek gives him a wave and heads out, leaving Yuri alone in the house with a certified madman and his dog, but also a shower with amazing water pressure, a fully stocked kitchen, and a sunroom that’s cold, quiet, and filled with snowlight, perfect for curling up with an overheating laptop.

-

The madman makes an appearance very late in the afternoon when the sun is already all but gone, and Yuri is cleaning his stiff bones out of the chilly sunroom, having sat there to study for hours. Viktor is standing in the doorway, blocking his exit, in a heavy dressing gown and silk pyjamas.

“At your age,” Viktor says, “I too thought that school was important.”

Yuri pulls the blanket he’d appropriated off a sofa closer around himself, glad that he’d changed into some more substantial clothes than the onesie. “It is pretty important if you wanna be a doctor.”

“You’re still on that track?” Viktor looks disappointed. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Yuri elbows his way past Viktor. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m disappointed,” Viktor says and smiles.

“You have too many teeth,” Yuri mutters and heads into the room with the fireplace and sofas, one of the three sitting rooms, which joins the sunroom to the rest of the house.

“Yuuri hasn’t worn his ring for the last three days.”

Yuri groans. “It’s not my problem.” He’d promised Katsuki.

“On the contrary. Since you pushed in, it’s very much your problem.” Viktor catches up to him with a swish of his robe. “He thinks I haven’t noticed. He’s been so distant ever since I started my new book. Love is such a mystery.”

Yuri, who’s been nothing but inconvenienced by love, sighs. “It’s not a mystery. It’s biology.”

“It’s a primal force,” Viktor claims. “That cannot be caged or caught or understood.”

“It’s literally hormones.” Yuri drops the blanket onto the sofa, and Viktor stays behind to look at the inelegant pile it creates.

“This is exactly what I mean.” Viktor points at the blanket. “Summary dismissal of one of the most important things in life. To you, just a pile of cloth.” He picks up the blanket and shakes it out, then tosses it on the back of the sofa, causing the blanket to cascade down elegantly. “You think because it’s essence is unharmed by your actions that it’ll be the same when you come back. But it won’t be, it’ll be _wrinkly_.”

“I _hate_ metaphors,” Yuri mutters. “This is why my side of the family doesn’t like your side of the family.”

“And why my side of the family has money, and yours does not.”

“Great talk.” Yuri heads out into the maze of corridors and intersecting rooms.

“Hormone production is a reaction to _something_ ,” Viktor calls out.

Love isn’t a metaphorical blanket. It’s the actual blanket Otabek had given Yuri one late evening when he was frozen to the core from a long study session at the woefully badly heated biomedical library on campus. The blanket had smelled like takeaway but also like Otabek, and Yuri’s hormones had definitely reacted. Yuri’d had to wash it before giving it back.

“I’m taking your dog out for a walk!” he calls back, not sure if Viktor even hears him.

-

Yuri doesn’t think twice about barging into the master bedroom after Katsuki gets back in the evening. Viktor is off wrestling with his creative demons, so Yuri doesn’t think there’s any need to be wary, but all he does is catch Katsuki sitting on the edge of their bed, sniffling.

“Stop crying!” Yuri says sharply. “Is someone bullying you at school?”

“Oh. No.” Katsuki wipes his eyes quickly. “Sorry.”

“Viktor says you’re not wearing your ring anymore. Are you leaving him?” Yuri looms over Katsuki on purpose, making him shirk back.

“I lost my ring!” Katsuki cries.

“Why doesn’t Viktor know that?”

“I was afraid to tell him. I was afraid he’d take it to mean something.” Katsuki takes off his glasses and buries his face in his hands. “He keeps reading into things all the time. One time I moved the pillows on his side of the bed, and he was certain it meant I no longer loved him!”

“Really? How?” Yuri asks despite himself. The macabre goings-on of Viktor and Katsuki’s relationship always do that to him: sweep him up and make him an unwilling participant.

“He said it meant I subconsciously wanted to kick him out of bed because I put the pillows on that chair.” Katsuki points at an armchair by the windows of their bedroom, upholstered in pearl grey and white silk striped cloth.

“Right. Well, now he thinks that you’ve taken off your ring on purpose, so I think you should tell him you lost it,” Yuri says and pats Katsuki on the shoulder distractedly. “He tried to illustrate love with a blanket today. Nice blanket but fuck. How do you keep your shit together with him?”

“I don’t. Not always,” Katsuki admits softly. His eyes are puffy and even more pitiful than usual.

“You actually let him have it sometimes?” Yuri’s voice goes up in surprise and sudden flush of appreciation for Katsuki. “I hope this is gonna be one of those times. Tell him he’s being a paranoid ass and doesn’t deserve you.”

Katsuki smiles under the tear-streaked cheeks. “You think so?”

“Just handle it!” Yuri repeats himself from that morning, flapping his arms impatiently. “I got my own shit to deal with!”

“Otabek is still straight, then?”

“Yes!” Yuri should know that voluntarily visiting other people’s bedrooms is only going to bring problems, and yet here he is. Love is a big twisted pile of dirty laundry that somehow always lands in his laundry basket, unasked, unneeded, unequivocal. “I’m taking your dog out for another walk.”

-

Yuri’s had enough time to have two fairly sizable wanks—one before and one after his shower—by the time his phone buzzes near midnight. Katsuki is asleep, and Viktor is hounding the corridors of his maze of a home. Yuri pulls on a hoodie on top of his non-cat pyjamas and sneaks over to the front door to open it for Otabek.

“Aa, you drunk bastard,” Yuri whispers as Otabek staggers in. He’s followed by a cloud of sparkly, snowy steam and the smell of beer. “Bring me anything?”

“No and not drunk,” Otabek whispers, and his breath smells even worse. “Just needed a lot to warm up after all day in lab. They got the power going just before I left, but not the water.”

“Well, then we get to stay at Hotel Grand Viktor for a little longer.” Yuri is cheered up. “What’d you do all day with the power out?”

“A lot of manual wankery,” Otabek slurs a little, plucking at Yuri’s hair. “Where’s my kittycat?”

“In the wash.” Yuri shoves his hand away and goes to close the door, shivering already from the cold it’s been letting in. He’d been wearing his onesie for days and it’d been in desperate need of a wash. He grabs Otabek by his backpack and pulls him up as he’s leaning down to undo his boots. “And if you ever call me a kittycat again I’ll fucking neuter you. Got it, Altin?”

Otabek slouches against the wall, red-faced either from drink or from the cold. “Got it, kit- Yu- Plisetsky.”

Yuri mimes keeping an eye on him and ghosts back into the guestroom, leaving Otabek to make his own way. If Otabek gets lost or runs into Viktor, that’s his fate, and there’s nothing Yuri can do about it.

Yuri buries himself in the bedclothes before Otabek stumbles in. Otabek’s steps are heavy, and he catches his feet in his own spilled laundry then murmurs a wounded _ow_ when he hits his leg on something else in the pitch-black room. Otabek’s breath is also heavy, which is familiar to Yuri from the few times he’s heard Otabek drunk. Something about lab-work makes him want to go drink.

“Need to shower,” Otabek mutters, feeling his way around the bed towards the adjoining bathroom. “D’you mind?”

“No,” Yuri mutters. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks, babe.” Otabek finds the door and turns on the bathroom light.

Yuri squeezes his eyes shut against the light at first, but at the sound of Otabek dropping clothes on the floor, he looks. He catches Otabek peeling off his undershirt before shoving the door almost shut, leaving a tantalising stripe of light across the guestroom for Yuri to fuel his fantasies.

“Kittycat,” Yuri mumbles into the pillow. His cheeks are hot and his dick is hard, just from Otabek drunkenly calling him that and then taking off his shirt. “ _Fuck._ ”

Yuri may be a sexually frustrated gay mess, but at this point Otabek is _just_ a mess. He drips water everywhere when he gets out of the shower, wearing the same pair of sweatpants he’d had on in the morning. No clean underwear. He drops into the bed like a dead weight, making Yuri jump on his side of the mattress.

“Yura,” Otabek whispers hoarsely. “Am I keeping you up?”

“A bit,” Yuri says.

“Sorry, babe.”

Yuri groans. He loves Otabek, he really does. Hormones and blankets and all. He probably shouldn’t but he fell for the stupid idiot at first sight, which had made him pretty cross to start with. He knows how this is going to end because it’s another straight boy and he’s already done this once or twice and got nothing but an aching heart and blue balls. It’s going to end the exact same way. Crumbling under its own impossibility.

Yuri is exactly that fortunate. “Stop calling me that,” he hisses at Otabek. _Unless you intend to flip me over right now and find out if I can have your children._

Otabek’s only response is the breath of someone who’s already asleep. Yuri’s eyes are adjusted to the dark enough to be able to see the faint grey outlines of Otabek’s face and naked upper body.

“Beka, you fucking biscuit tin,” Yuri murmurs, making sure to pull the blankets over Otabek so he doesn’t get cold later. Biscuit tins are a double-edged sword. Either they’re full of biscuits, as advertised, or they’re full of sewing supplies. Friendly straight boys are the same. Pictures of delicious biscuits on the outside, and no certainty of what’s inside. Probably the sewing supplies of heartbreak.


	2. Blanket Conditions

“Yura, is this place haunted?” Otabek asks very early the next morning.

“Only by Viktor’s ego,” Yuri mumbles. “Why?” He stretches and turns to look at his bedmate.

Otabek is on his back, hands above the covers, staring at the ceiling. “Heard some weird moaning at night.”

“Definitely Viktor.” Yuri yawns. He fumbles around for his phone to check the time. Barely 9am.

Otabek rolls against Yuri’s back. “What does it mean in the weather app when there’s a small cloud and a small sun, but the next day has a big cloud and a big sun?”

Yuri is glad at least two layers of thick down comforter separates them. The 5-day forecast on the face of his phone is indeed declaring the weather as Otabek described. “I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow’s gonna have big dick energy?”

Otabek snorts with laughter and rolls away, stretching so hard he mewls under his breath. Yuri dies a little bit inside.

“Think Katsuki will make us breakfast again today?” Otabek asks.

“Can you make your stomach growl on command?” Yuri replies, sitting up to watch a sleepy, shirtless Otabek wander through the wasteland of unwashed clothes. The key to Katsuki’s sympathy is appearances.

Otabek looks down at himself and pats his flat belly. “No, I don’t think so.”

“We might be out of luck, then,” Yuri mutters, dramatizing the scenario. Katsuki is going to feed them regardless. Viktor might be a different case, but he’s not going to be at breakfast.

“Do you think it’s morally acceptable to use someone else’s wi-fi for porn?” Otabek asks

“Where are you gonna watch it? We’re sharing a bed,” Yuri sighs, although if Otabek wants to whip it out in front of him, that’s fine too. It’s not Yuri who’ll have to live with those consequences.

“Maybe you’ll watch it with me.” Otabek laughs a little.

Katsuki had warned Yuri that Otabek could be reticent and standoffish when they’d first met at Katsuki’s Japanese classes. Yuri still doesn’t understand the warning, because Otabek is nothing like that. He’s the most beautiful boy Yuri has ever seen, and he smiles and laughs and is a special kind of stupid and sweet. He fills Yuri’s heart with thunderstorm rainbows and kitten claws.

“I’d rather not,” Yuri says. “I don’t like all that squealing.”

“Too bad,” Otabek huffs. He’s gathered an armful of his clothes. “Which way to the washing machine?”

“I’ll take you. You’ll never find it without me.” Yuri slips out of bed and makes sure the coast is clear before taking Otabek down the corridor and through the twisty labyrinth of rooms no one seems to use. Some of the rooms are slightly lower and some slightly higher than others so that people constantly get inconvenienced by having to go up and down short sets of stairs, followed by the loss of sanity and sense of direction. At the far end of the house are the utility rooms with laundry and cleaning cupboards.

“This place is a trip,” Otabek says in a low voice while shovelling his clothes into the machine. Yuri has already made sure to tip in the right amount of detergent and pushes buttons until it’s the right program for dark colours.

“It’s a portal to hell,” Yuri agrees and crouches next to Otabek, hanging his arms between his knees to watch the washing machine start turning. He notices a piece of white clothing in with the blacks and elbows Otabek. “That’s going to be grey.”

“I know.” Otabek shrugs a little. “This floor is heated. No wonder it’s so nice here.”

“It’s cosy.” Yuri yawns. “Please don’t watch porn while we’re here.”

“Ah, to be young and broke and in love again,” Viktor says from the doorway. He’s wearing a shiny smoking jacket and soft leather loafers. “And watching porn.”

The hairs on the back of Yuri’s neck rise like hackles. “Up this early? Isn’t that unhealthy for you?”

“I, my dear, sweet Yurio, haven’t even gone to bed yet,” Viktor declares. He shuffles in between Otabek and Yuri and squats too. “Random patterns in the wash? Fascinating. Oh no. Yuuri would never let me put a light colour in with dark colours. Who’s done this?”

“Beka,” Yuri says instantly, catching Otabek’s eye past Viktor. Otabek has the palm of his hand pressed against his mouth, hiding his smile.

“How irresponsible,” Viktor says. He smells like cedar and expensive wine. Compared to Otabek’s always more tan skin, Viktor is practically as white as the snow outside. “I understand you two are here because of some sort of catastrophe,” he continues. “I forget what it’s about.”

“Power and water-”

“I don’t care,” Viktor interrupts Yuri. “But I’ve decided that today is when my sweet Yuuri and I shall rekindle our romance, so I’d appreciate it if you two fucked off for the evening.”

“Does Pork Cutlet let you use that kind of language?” Yuri laughs. He goes to stand up, but Viktor catches his wrist and squeezes very hard to make Yuri’s bones crunch.

“He would frown on it,” Viktor says. “But our marriage is important, and I want my Yuuri to be fulfilled, which might require the use of an expletive or two.”

“Filled,” Otabek coughs unsubtly.

Viktor stands up, pulling Yuri along. He puts his foot on Otabek’s back and presses down, not letting him get up. “Anyone who mentions this to Yuuri or makes him feel any way bad, embarrassed or unappreciated will be fed to the wolves.”

“You’re the one making him feel bad!” Yuri complains, only to receive the thousand-megawatt stare from Viktor’s diamond eyes. “You overreact and blame _him_ for-”

“I don’t care we’re related, Yurio,” he says. “I will leave you to die in the snow along with your boyfriend.” He yanks Yuri closer. “But take comfort in the fact that it’ll at least be a romantic, if somewhat tragic, death.”

“We get it, fu~ck,” Yuri says, managing to pull his hand free.

“Brilliant,” Viktor says and takes his foot off Otabek. “Can’t wait to not have you here tonight. Yurio, Otabek.” He gives them a nod and leaves, hands in the pockets of his smoking jacket.

Otabek slumps on the floor, and Yuri follows suit, rubbing his wrist. Viktor tends to leave rooms in turmoil upon exit, or maybe that’s just how Yuri experiences it. Otabek doesn’t look bothered and meets Yuri’s glance with some amusement.

“Are you really related?” Otabek asks. “I’m beginning to understand why his house is such a trip.”

“Yeah, through, like, a great-aunt or something,” Yuri admits. “But the two sides of the family don’t really talk.”

“You’ve told him I’m your boyfriend,” Otabek says.

“No!” Yuri leaps to his own defence, although physically he does the opposite and recoils. “No, I haven’t. I don’t know why he said that.”

Otabek leans on a cabinet, one knee up. He doesn’t hide his smile when it’s just the two of them. He slides down farther and closes his eyes. “This floor’s so comfortable.”

Yuri watches Otabek stretch out. He could run his fingers through the line of hair going down the centre of Otabek’s torso, or he could keep his hands to himself and also keep his friend. Lust is selfish, after all, and he doesn’t want to be like Viktor who basically bullied Katsuki into a relationship.

“Yura, are you ever disappointed that laundry’s never really done?”

“Beka, what,” Yuri sighs and flops down next to Otabek. He has great view of the floor under the cabinets in that position. The cabinets are on little stilts a few inches off the floor, probably in case the drain gets backed up and sends dirty water across the room.

“If you’re wearing clothes while doing laundry, you’ll never be done because of what you’re wearing,” Otabek explains.

“So just do laundry naked,” Yuri says. He spots something shiny under one of the cabinets and scoots closer so he can reach it. It’s a ring.

“My roommate might object.”

Yuri sits up, inspecting the silvery ring. “I think this is Katsuki’s fucking wedding ring.” He looks up and meets Otabek’s questioning gaze and shrugs. “He lost it. He told me. They’re having… a thing.”

“Would explain your cousin, then.”

“No, nothing explains him. He’s like that all the time.” Yuri rolls the ring between his fingers and scrambles up to his feet. “And you’re wrong, by the way. You can get your dick out all you want, Beka. I can take it.”

“All of it?”

Yuri stops to appreciate the sweatpants-and-nothing Otabek for a hot, breathless second. He’s every kind of good daydream Yuri’s had. “You can’t say shit like that, Beka,” he mutters. It’s too early in the morning. It’s too late with his heart.

Otabek straightens out his legs and crosses his ankles. Yuri looks away because the sweatpants are clingy and the best kind of male lingerie. “You said you could take it,” Otabek points out, which is fair.

“Yeah, but… Look, Beka, I don’t have a great track record with hot straight boys who are nice to me.” Yuri tries the ring on while brooding, switching it from finger to finger. He should take it to Katsuki.

“Somebody hurt you?” Otabek says softly, following the ring in Yuri’s hands.

For all the fun they’ve had, there’s never been too many deep, personal conversations. Porn yes, romance no. “Yeah, me,” Yuri says. He owns up to his mistakes. “I always hurt me.”

“I won’t.”

“Beka, for fuck’s sake!” Yuri snaps. He’s like the frayed end of a rope, coming apart at every tug.

“Well, I won’t,” Otabek insists. “Have I so far?”

“No,” Yuri admits. Otabek hasn’t hurt him; Yuri has hurt himself more, as usual, by letting himself think that there are chances after chances when he already has proof of the opposite. “I gotta take this to Katsuki.”

“I’ll be fine,” Otabek assures him, unneeded, which only casts a darker shadow of doubt onto his ability to actually handle his own laundry. Yuri graces him with a long, suspicious look on his way out, and then holds on to that image of a half-bare Otabek the whole journey to the kitchen. This is what Sam and Frodo must’ve felt like on the way to Mt Doom, thinking back to the lush hills of Hobbiton. Except the lush hills Yuri is leaving behind belong to the plains of Otabek’s loins and the ring of power is Katsuki’s.

“Why are you always in the kitchen, Pork Cutlet?” Yuri asks when he gets there, finding Katsuki sitting in the breakfast nook with a pile of papers on the table in front of him and Makkachin leaning his chin on Katsuki’s knee.

“Maybe the hint is in that name,” Katsuki replies, putting his red pen down.

“And not in the fact this house is a hellish nightmare?” Yuri joins him at the small, round table. The worst shape for a table. The edge is always moving away, no matter where one sits. Kind of like the quicksand in which he’s drawn his lines with Otabek. Maybe his heart could take another disappointment. That’s what love’s about. Containing endless fucking disappointments.

“Sometimes that too,” Katsuki admits. “The light in the kitchen is nice.” He gestures out into the snowy yard, not blazing with sunlight this time, but overcast and dark. “The forecast said there’d be another blizzard this weekend.”

“Oh fuck no. They just got the power working at the campus _yesterday_ ,” Yuri groans, snapping back to reality like a rubber band. “Another blizzard’s just gonna blow it out again, and I really like dependable electricity.”

“I don’t mind if you two stay longer. The house is big enough,” Katsuki says.

It reminds Yuri of the reason why he sought out Katsuki in the first place. The ring is still on his left pointer finger, and he pulls it off. “Even tonight?” he asks.

“What- Oh.” Katsuki’s cheeks pinken. “So Viktor-”

“Don’t worry, he already threatened to kill us if we didn’t leave so you can bang.” Yuri rolls his eyes. Katsuki covers his mouth with a hand, then drops it, smiling ruefully.

“Viktor takes love very seriously,” he says softly. “I’m happy that he does.”

“He could stand to take it a little less seriously and with fewer metaphors,” Yuri scoffs. “Here. Found this.” He drops the ring on Katsuki’s pile of papers.

Katsuki’s eyes brim with tears as he picks up the ring. “Where did you find it?”

“In the laundry room, under the cabinets,” Yuri says. “How’d you lose it?”

“I take it off when I clean the drain,” Katsuki says and slips the ring back on, sighing as though he felt somehow completed by it. “Thank you so much. Can I ask… What were you doing on the laundry room floor?”

“Enjoying the heat. It’s nicer than some of the beds I’ve had.” Yuri squirms on his seat, looking for reasons to go back there. “What’s for breakfast?”

“I made omurice and fruit cups,” Katsuki replies. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Literally a single hard-boiled egg would be okay,” Yuri huffs, getting up to pillage the omurice and catches Otabek standing in the doorway. He’s no longer shirtless and has the sleeves of a red and black plaid shirt wrapped around his hips to fuse the t-shirt and the sweatpants together.

 _Food?_ Otabek mouths the question at Yuri.

“Use your words, Beka,” Yuri says, making Katsuki look up from petting Makkachin.

“Oh, help yourselves,” Katsuki says. “It’s all for you. I’ve already eaten.”

“Thank you,” Otabek says and beelines for Yuri and the food.

“What are you two up to today?” Katsuki asks while Yuri and Otabek divvy up the food.

“Guess we’re going out tonight,” Yuri says, giving Katsuki a look as he brings his plate over to the table.

Katsuki’s cheeks are pink, but he smiles happily. “Thank you again for finding my ring, Yurio.”

“Yeah, sure.” Yuri plops down. Otabek stays by the kitchen island, eating while standing up. He’s like a snake, swallowing without chewing. But unlike a snake and much like an idiot he’s just going to choke on it someday. “So you and Viktor, it was just all ‘cause you lost your ring?”

“Oh. Not entirely, but I suppose mostly.” Katsuki holds up his hand and looks at the ring. “You were right. I should’ve just told him I lost it.”

By the island, Otabek raises his finger and mouths _one point_ at Yuri. He picks out a grape from his bowl. Yuri shakes his head. _Not now_.

“I just didn’t want to rock the boat more,” Katsuki continues. “Sorry. I don’t mean to take over the conversation again with this topic.”

Yuri’s objections go unheeded as Otabek takes aim and nails him on the forehead with the grape, which then rolls under the table. “I swear to God,” Yuri says, rubbing the slightly sticky mark off his head. “I’m dealing with multiple idiots here.”

“Makka-chan can’t eat grapes,” Katsuki says with alarm, grabbing Makkachin’s collar. The dog is peering after the thing that has fallen on the floor.

“Shit,” Yuri says and ducks immediately to look for it. Otabek follows, meeting him under the table. “This is your fault,” Yuri hisses at him.

“I like you,” Otabek responds in a calm whisper, and Yuri bangs the top of his head against the underside of the table in surprise.

“Did you find it?” Katsuki asks, peering under the table, making Yuri bang his head again.

“Yes,” Otabek says, holding up the grape and getting up. “Sorry. My bad.”

Yuri pulls back into his seat, rubbing his head. He feels dizzy, and it’s not because he’s just hit his head twice. Otabek is back at the kitchen island, eating from his fruit cup by hand and eyes demurely cast down.

“Do you need ice?” Katsuki asks, looking him over with sympathy.

“M’fine,” Yuri mumbles. _I like you. I like you. I like you._ It means nothing. It means friendship. Kitten claws are sharp too, and Yuri’s heart is bleeding. Thunderstorms can still leave behind smoking ruins, no matter how many rainbows there are. And yet, rainbows are fucking gorgeous, and Yuri is getting lost in his own metaphor.

“Gonna go work on my reports,” Otabek says and picks up his fruit cup.

“Right,” Yuri says through his mouthful of egg and rice. He watches Otabek leave, then finds Katsuki watching him in turn. “What?”

“Could you take Makka-chan for a walk in a few hours?” Katsuki asks. “I don’t want to wake Viktor, but I need to do the shopping. It takes me a while.”

“Yeah,” Yuri says hoarsely. He can’t tell from Katsuki’s blank, benign face if he’s leaving them alone on purpose.

“Thanks, Yurio.” Katsuki smiles and picks up his pen again, going back to grading papers.

Then Yuri counts to 60 by skipping everything between 30 and 59. He hasn’t worn socks because the floors are so warm, and his bare feet squeak on the hardwood as he dashes back to the guestroom, leaving his breakfast mostly uneaten. Fucking straight boys jerking off to fucking catgirls and their fucking _I like you_ s.

Otabek is sitting on the floor, leaning on the bed, playing with his Switch and not working on any paper. He’s swept the rest of his laundry into a pile. He wears so few colours, and the piles are just black and grey and dark blue. “Hey, babe,” he says, glancing up.

“Beka!” Yuri snaps. “Are you flirting with me?”

Otabek looks up, pausing his game. “Yeah,” he says. “Your 200 IQ at work there.”

“Beka!” Yuri says again, in abject despair. He closes the door and leans on it.

“You’re the catgirl of my dreams.”

Yuri laughs because what else is he supposed to do when someone says that? “I’m not a girl!”

“Yeah, it was a surprise to me too.”

“Why? Because I look like a girl? Fuck off, Altin!”

“I think androgynous is the word,” Otabek says. He hasn’t raised his voice, but he rarely does for any reason.

“I think _fuck you_ is what I’m trying to say.” Yuri’s voice is swallowed by the soft surfaces of the room, the pillows, the blankets, the squashy arm chairs, making it quieter than he intends. “I’m not some hentai character you can experiment with!”

“Yeah, that was a bit hyperbolic.” Otabek ducks his head and runs his hand through his hair, making the long part on top stand up. “Sorry. I thought it’d be funny.” He looks at Yuri from under his brows, a question in the set of his mouth.

“You know I fucking like you too,” Yuri spits, failing to control his aggression.

“I know,” Otabek agrees. The question becomes a curl of a smile. “You told me, about three months ago? I’ve been trying to flirt with you ever since, but you keep shutting me down.”

“Well, because- ‘Cause you’re straight!” Yuri fumbles. He’s going to end up in shreds from the kitten claws Otabek’s smile causes in him.

“’Cause I jack off to catgirls?”

“Yes!”

“Catboy hentai is tough to find.”

“Beka!” Yuri slides down to the floor.

“Yeah, babe?”

Yuri thunks his head against the door, then rolls onto his hands and knees and crawls the short distance to Otabek, scattering the pile of his clothes on the way.

Otabek drops his Switch and his face lights up obscenely. “Yura, kitty-”

“No,” Yuri growls. He’s close enough to grab the front of Otabek’s shirt. Love is all about losing, and then learning to live with those losses. Yuri has lost a lot. Mostly in the department of self-respect, but if the rainbows and kittens tumbling around in Yuri’s brain are any indication, he’s right on track to losing a little more.

“No?” Otabek leans his head on the side of the mattress as Yuri sits next to him, still grasping Otabek’s shirt.

“No kittycat,” Yuri stipulates.

“Never?”

“I don’t meow for just anyone.”

“But that someone could be me?” Otabek smiles, short and sweet.

“It could _eventually_ be you,” Yuri promises. _In fact, please let it be you._

“Even though..?” Otabek makes the universal gesture for having a wank, and follows it with a myriad of other crudely intended gestures that Yuri can only laugh at.

“Even though,” Yuri agrees, voice catching on his laughter.

Otabek ducks close and kisses Yuri. Short and sweet, and tasty. “Can I find out if you’re matching pink everywhere?” he asks, their lips still touching. “‘Cause I’ve been wondering for fucking ages.”

“What the fuck do you mean? Exactly which parts of me do you think are pink?” Yuri snorts, absolutely enthralled and desperately eager to let Otabek do whatever he wants.

“That’s what I’m gonna find out, fivehead. The genetics of melanin production, a comparative study between you and me,” Otabek says. He’s still smiling when he kisses Yuri again, very briefly and very softly. His hand steals around Yuri’s waist.

“Hey, uhh, Beka,” Yuri says. “Can you just fucking stick your tongue down my throat already?” Maybe Otabek thinks this is the time for seduction of whatever the fuck, but it isn’t. Yuri is already seduced. He’s ready. He’s been ready almost as long as he’s known Otabek. But he needs Otabek to take the first step. The actual non-platonic, non-flirty, just-fuck-me-already step, even if it’s Yuri who’s asking him to do it.

“Ah,” Otabek exhales. The last thing Yuri sees is Otabek’s pupils going wide before Otabek grabs him with both hands and seals their mouths together.

Otabek takes no fucking hostages when he kisses. He’s taken Yuri the best kind of literally and tilts him back to fill his mouth. It’s every bit as intense and filthy as Yuri hoped, and it goes straight from his tastebuds to his dick, like an express line of sweet, ball-clenching pre-orgasm juice. Yuri’s knees pop up around Otabek as he scrapes along the side of the bed to lie on the floor, fingers in Otabek’s hair and clinging to the sleeve of his t-shirt.

Noises build up in the back of Yuri’s throat and come out as short, guttural whines, muffled against Otabek’s mouth. Otabek responds in soft hums and with curious hands that drag Yuri’s shirt up and press against his flesh, leaving smouldering fingerprints in the alleys between Yuri’s ribs.

When Otabek pulls back it’s with soft, disgusting slurp and with Yuri reaching after him until the distance becomes too great and he lets his head fall back, breathing in quick gasps. Otabek’s lips are spit-wet and plump and tilted in a way that spell the smugness of a person who’s got what they want. His hair flops over as he tilts his head, tracing his thumb over Yuri’s similarly slippery lips.

“You’re candyfloss, babe,” he says and traces his fingertips over the hard nub of Yuri’s nipple under his shirt. Yuri’s brain falters like a spinning top starting to slow down.

“What, no,” he says and pulls Otabek’s thumb between his lips, circling the tip with his tongue. Otabek’s face reddens and he ducks down to drag his mouth along Yuri’s jaw and finds a spot to mark.

And then this self-satisfied gorgeous piece of shit that’s been the sole fucking star of every wank fantasy Yuri’s had in the last half a year bunches Yuri’s shirt up and lowers his mouth to suck on Yuri’s nipple. He’s so sloppy about it too, making a noise that will forever be repeating in Yuri’s imagination, a squeaky, suck-slick noise, and Yuri’s dick twitches like a catapult ready to fling a load of boiling hot cum out of him.

Yuri hasn’t even thought his nipples to be particularly sensitive or an erogenous zone of any real importance until Otabek put his smug fucking tongue to work, making Yuri whimper like one of Otabek’s hentai fucking catgirls. Because Yuri knows what they sound like, the sobbing and bleating of shrill female Japanese voice actors going _no no no it’s too big_ coming through the wall between their bedrooms, signalling the times Otabek’s getting off like the degenerate weeb he is.

And, okay, not like Yuri is some saint here, but fuck Otabek and the dick he grinds against Yuri’s, making Yuri’s mouth pop open and exhale a sound like an emptying balloon, accompanied by the whistle of Otabek’s breath against Yuri’s wet chest and the weight of his thighs. Yuri can only think in punctuation marks, and it’s all of them at the same time.

“Hey,” Otabek says, voice delightfully raspy. He pulls his thumb out of Yuri’s mouth, stringing along spit and smearing it across Yuri’s chin.

Yuri feels a sudden headache coming on. He knows this part. The stalling and the talking. His heels scrape against the floor as he tries to kick himself out from under Otabek and the heat of his what feels like a soda can sized dick. It’s happening again. This fucking biscuit tin is full of sewing supplies. Yuri lodges his hands on Otabek’s shoulders and pushes, voiceless and desperate in disappointment.

“Yura,” Otabek says, red-raw in the face with desire and dawning confusion. He unseats one of Yuri’s hands and kisses the palm of it, licking up the taste of sweat.

Yuri growls, breath and body hitching. He’s angry, but he’s angry at himself. He’s put himself in this position again, under someone who doesn’t really want him. Just wants the experience.

“Yura,” Otabek says again, lips against Yuri’s fingers.

Here it comes. _Blow me. I’ve always wanted a guy to suck me off. Can you do it? You’re really hot. You could be a girl. Just do it. You’re making me so hard._ Fucking pillow princesses. When is he going to learn to leave it at flirting? Yuri’s lips draw back in a snarl.

“Your ears are pink,” Otabek says, breath cold against the wet of Yuri’s hand. He lets go of the hand and reaches up to touch the side of Yuri’s head. “Where are you going? Why’re you making that face?”

“You- you’re-” Yuri grunts, all of the sensation from his body drawn up and away into his brain, the cold maelstrom of disenchantment. Otabek doesn’t move off him. His eyes are soft, just a little bit crinkled up in amusement.

“Your ears get really pink when you’re turned on,” Otabek says, cupping Yuri’s cheek. The softness doesn’t go away, but he pulls his lower lip back with his teeth and releases it with a pop. “Fuck.”

Yuri stops pushing and grabs the shoulder seams of Otabek’s shirt. “What?” he says, following the sparkle of satisfaction that blooms on Otabek’s face. “What’s that got to do with anything?” If it’s a new type of dismissal or rejection, it’s doing its job of bewildering Yuri.

“I’ve seen your ears go pink a lot.” Otabek digs his fingers into Yuri’s hair at the back of his neck. “Never knew the reason.”

Yuri almost chokes on the relieved, hoarse cackle that bubbles up from him. He grabs Otabek’s ears and pulls them wide. “Fuck off, Altin. What are you talking about?”

“I finally get it,” Otabek continues, stroking Yuri’s hair, which would be sweet if he wasn’t also rutting against Yuri in a slow, but determined way that’s making star-shaped bursts of sensation go off inside Yuri, and, most importantly, along the length of his cock.

Otabek kisses him, pulling on his lower lip. “Why’re your ears so often pink when I’m around? Hm? You wanna explain that, babe?”

“Okay, first of all.” Yuri moves his hands down and clamps them on the twin mounds of Otabek’s ass, pulling them tighter together. It’s worth it just for the stupid, blissful look on Otabek’s face, and the throaty groan that vibrates against Yuri. “Do you always chat this much when getting off? And second, that’s false causation. My ears could be pink for a completely unrelated reason.”

Their mouths go back together like magnets, and Yuri’s already soaked through his underwear just from the slow drag and pressure. They aren’t even really moving, just rocking slowly, almost awkwardly, but it’s still better than those really involved wanking sessions Yuri’s had over Otabek. Just having Otabek panting damply against him, muscles in his abdomen twitching and tongue looking for the source of the Nile behind Yuri’s teeth. All of it made more brilliant because Otabek has just been his superb dumb self, not trying to pull away, just obsessed with whatever pink parts Yuri has because he’s a fucking idiot.

“I don’t think I’m wrong,” Otabek says into the molecule-thin space between their mouths. “I think you’re so into me you can’t stop being turned on every second I’m near.”

“You have got a high fucking opinion of yourself, Altin.” Yuri pushes the waist of Otabek’s sweats down, getting his hands on bare skin. Otabek twists against him and pull his knees under himself, shoving his hand down between them and down the front of Yuri’s pants. His hand is rough for a few moments, pulling a long moan from Yuri and an oozing load of pre-cum from his balls.

It’s like having the Hand of God making Yuri ejaculate rainbows, followed by an awkward fumble as Otabek sits back and pulls Yuri’s pants and underwear down his hips. Yuri doesn’t think he has any control over his legs any longer, they just fall open, trembling, and the sheer smug fucking radiance of Otabek’s expression nearly blinds him as Otabek looks down at the slick cock he’s fisting.

“ _Pink_ ,” Otabek says as if it’s a triumphant revelation and his world makes sense again.

“Fuck you,” Yuri echoes, hands scrabbling at Otabek’s forearms, the floor, the side of the bed, and his own chest and head. He lifts his hips and fucks into Otabek’s hand, this time nearly going blind from the sensation of Otabek’s thumb dragging against the underside, pulling the foreskin back.

Otabek scoots back a fraction and dips down, tongue coming out to clean the dripping tip of Yuri’s cock. He does it with a hum and a sigh of air that makes Yuri’s insides and outsides clench. “Tastes pink too,” he says happily and does it again.

“That- that- Beka. _Beka._ I’m-” Yuri doesn’t get to finish his mouth-words as he finishes into Otabek’s mouth, wanting to watch, having imagined it too many times, how Otabek’s tongue is flooded with his cum, how Otabek’s lips glisten as they close around the tip of Yuri’s cock, how it feels to have Otabek stroke him and swallow every drop. Yuri doesn’t get to see it because his back and neck bend into an arch and his eyes roll up into his skull, to watch the brain-stem fireworks instead of Otabek.

Otabek’s tongue rasps up Yuri’s abdomen, right through the hair at the base of Yuri’s cock and up to his navel, and then all the way until he hits the bunched-up shirt under Yuri’s chin. Yuri feels it somewhere in the back of his brain and doesn’t react until Otabek mouths at his lips.

“Yura,” Otabek says. His hand brushes against Yuri’s thigh. “Look.”

There’s a fraction of a second after Yuri opens his eyes where visual information doesn’t make any sense. Then there’s the ceiling of the guestroom and Otabek’s face. His mouth is wet and red, and his hair is flopped over with dampness, a slight bit of sweat giving him a sheen. He flicks his eyes downwards, and Yuri’s gaze follows.

Otabek is holding his own dick, darker red against his hand, darker red against Yuri’s skin, and shiny with slicked-back pre-cum. “See what I mean?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Eumelanin makes a difference,” Yuri says, breath shuddering in and out of him like an engine trying to start. He covers Otabek’s hand with his own, sliding his fingers in between Otabek’s. “You still wanna talk about that?”

“Yeah, I do,” Otabek says, but with laughter that sputters out between his words and the sharp gasps when Yuri moves his hand. “Mm, Yura.” He cups Yuri’s cheek and kisses him, soft and a bit distracted, using Yuri’s hand more than letting Yuri give him a handjob.

“Mmm, okay...” Yuri brings his legs up and around Otabek’s hips and hooks his free arm around Otabek’s shoulders. “Okay, Beka. Keep going. Just fuck my- fuck me,” Yuri says, earning another soft laugh from Otabek, whose hips have barely stilled.

Otabek buries his damp face in Yuri’s neck and fucks his hand, panting and creating a pocket of hot, moist air between them. He’s graceless, but his murmured moans and little sharp whinges are an unprecedented type of aural pleasure to Yuri. He doesn’t only hear them but feels them in his skin and in his gut, same as the silky roll of Otabek’s cock against his hand, the push and pulse of the oozy goodness spilling over Yuri’s thumb when he presses it into the slit.

To Yuri, Otabek’s orgasm is like spraying a fizzy soda bottle all over himself, although warm and not as liquid. Otabek pulses in Yuri’s hand and coats the bare batch of skin around his navel with splash after splash. The noises Otabek makes are more vibration, and then he stills, breathing in forceful huffs into Yuri’s neck.

“...Nice,” Yuri croaks after a while, a cooling, gross mess between his fingers and on his stomach. And sluicing down his neck from Otabek’s mouth. “You dead, Altin?”

“No,” Otabek groans. He picks up his head and wipes his mouth, giving Yuri satisfied, half-lidded eyes. “Just pretty happy.”

“Yeah...” Yuri pulls out his hand and wipes it on the back of Otabek’s shirt. “That wasn’t bad.” There’s usually a second stage to these things if it gets this far. If he’s been an idiot and blown another self-serving sex-starved asshole. _That was fun, but..._

Otabek snorts and slides off him, although he doesn’t go far, just to the side so his weight isn’t squarely on Yuri. “Not bad? So let’s do it again until you’re happy too.”

“Beka,” Yuri huffs, softer than he’d intended. He lets his head fall to the side, to meet Otabek’s eyes. “Got your results for that comparative study?”

“Wow.” Otabek chuckles. He blinks slowly as though his lids are extremely heavy and licks his lips, slick tongue swiping across red lips. He’s beautiful and tempting like any dark fantasy, and the coiling tension in Yuri’s belly has nothing to do with hunger for food. “You want me to write a project report for you?”

“Yeah, uh. I do.” Yuri pushes his hips up to pull his pants back on, despite the remains of Otabek’s pleasure on him. Otabek stretches, ignoring the fact his dick’s still out. Yuri straddles and kisses him, sucking on the lips and tongue that already made his whole week.

“Can we get heated floors when we move in together for real?” Otabek asks, pushing Yuri’s hair back from his face.

“Oh, no, Beka, don’t do that.” Yuri rolls off him. He smooths his hand over Otabek’s cheek, and Otabek turns into it, pressing a kiss into the muscle under his thumb. “Don’t get lovey-dovey just ‘cause you came.”

“I thought you were a romantic.” Otabek finally puts himself back into his sweats.

“I never agreed I was,” Yuri deflects but leans in to kiss Otabek, soft and a little lovey-dovey himself. Otabek flops back on the floor and pulls Yuri back on top of him, making the kiss last a sweet, long while, like the way Yuri likes to eat the first fresh strawberries of the summer.

“Can you put on the kitty onesie?” Otabek murmurs.

“Stop fetishising my pyjamas!” Yuri laughs loud enough to startle himself back into silence. But there’s no one here to comment on loud noises; there’s at least five rooms, a pair of earplugs, and an entire ocean of narcissism between them and Viktor.

“But kittycat, I really like it when you wear it,” Otabek says, touching Yuri’s ears again, which for all the heat in them must be flaming red now.

“Don’t call me that,” Yuri mutters and falls into Otabek’s mouth for another summer-sweet moment. He _wants_ to wear the onesie. He wants Otabek to unzip it and put his hand inside and find out Yuri’s not wearing anything under it. “Fuck,” Yuri says. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Otabek’s kiss-red face lights up again, almost as happy-lewd as before. Yuri pushes himself up off him, and Otabek follows, sitting up.

“Yeah,” Yuri asserts. He’s piled his clean laundry on one of the armchairs.

“Yura,” Otabek says. He points at the window. “Look, I forgot it’s winter.” He’s quiet, eyes following the snow flurries beyond the window.

“Oh,” Yuri squints at the snow. “Oh shit.” The warm floor under his toes and the warm glow in his belly have fooled him too. Like he could never be cold again, even if the water main is never fixed, and their bedrooms stay at a solid -5 Celsius forever. He could stay warm just by staring at the back of Otabek’s bare neck, or just from the friction of the eager, long-legged rainbow kittens tumbling around in his chest cavity, purring and squeaking in happiness. Like an engine for jump-starting oxytocin production.

“Katsuki said there might be another blizzard today,” he continues. “We might not be able to go back to the dorms for a while.”

Otabek’s gaze comes back to Yuri, and it’s full-on honeydew-wet summer again. Otabek shrugs. “I don’t care. Where do you wanna go tonight?”

“If there’s a blizzard? Nowhere,” Yuri says, getting his onesie. He unfolds it and holds it up. “I can’t wear this in public. Especially if it’s unzipped all the way.”

“Maybe they won’t notice if we stay here tonight,” Otabek says immediately. “We can hide somewhere.”

Love is just endless, worthless hope. It’s the containment of disappointments, and a blanket, both metaphorical and actual. It’s laundry and popcorn and hormones. It’s a perfect fucking roommate and a ribcage-installed kitten-engine spewing out rainbows. It’s the thought of sharing a bed back at their dorms. It’s a biscuit tin that fucking finally contains delicious biscuits. It’s not a mystery at all.


	3. The Rest of the Conditions

“Wow, did it always smell this bad or is this a new thing?”

Yuri drops the IKEA bag Katsuki had given for him to transport his now clean laundry back to the dorms. He flicks the light switch by the door and the lights come on. It’s still chilly, but not freezing.

“Was it always this small?” Otabek adds. He throws his matching IKEA bag towards his room.

“Ew, what’s that?” Yuri points at the puddle that’s formed on the floor around the fridge. Their return to the dorms is less triumphant and more eye-opening than necessary. The popcorn is still there too, mostly in Yuri’s room, but some of it’s been tracked into the shared space, crushed to fragments by their hurry to leave half a week earlier.

“I think,” Otabek says, having opened the fridge, “that this thing is broken. No light.”

“Who’s going to clean that?” Yuri says, already walking away. His room’s a mess, but at least the radiator burns his hand this time with heat instead of cold. He kicks at the popcorn for a bit, thinking wistfully of Katsuki’s fresh linens. He goes to plug in his charger, but thinks better of it, and quickly shoves it back into his pocket and rushes into Otabek’s room.

“Leave me a space,” he says, shoving himself in next to Otabek. “Why are there so few outlets in this dump?”

“Excuse me,” Otabek says. “This is my room. These are my outlets.”

“Someone spilled popcorn in my room,” Yuri says. “So I’m staying here now.”

“If only someone had thought ahead,” Otabek continues. He pulls out Katsuki’s extension cord from his backpack and hands it to Yuri.

“Beka!” Yuri laughs, clutching the extension cord.

“I should’ve stolen one of their rooms instead,” Otabek says as he completes his charger trilogy, and Yuri plugs in the extension cord to do the same.

“Which one?” Yuri snorts.

“The laundry room, of course,” Otabek replies, which makes Yuri laugh again.

“We’ll get one when we move in together, right?” Yuri says and takes a leap into Otabek’s bed. He’s been there before, but never with the intention to stay and orgasm all over it. Otabek follows, landing on top of him.

“If I get a job, we could get a small flat,” he says, pinching Yuri’s ears, one after the other as Yuri slaps his hands away. “I know your scholarship only covers staying at the dorms.”

“You can’t get a job, you have to start clinical rotations soon,” Yuri says. “Get your hand out of my pants, this is serious.”

Otabek pulls his hand out and rolls off Yuri. “After two more years, then?”

“Then you want to specialise!” Yuri argues.

“I want a laundry room and heated floors,” Otabek says sadly.

“On Friday you still wanted to genetically engineer a catgirl,” Yuri reminds him, popping the button on his jeans. Otabek gets up on his elbow to watch as Yuri shoves his own hand down his pants. Otabek’s lips twitch in the same rhythm that Yuri moves his hand.

“They’re not mutually exclusive desires,” Otabek murmurs. This time Yuri doesn’t push Otabek’s hand away as it dips under the waist of his jeans. “I’m happy we’re back here. Just the two of us.”

“Yeah?” Yuri lets Otabek’s fingers intertwine with his in the warmth of his underwear.

“Yeah, we can finally watch porn together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently decided to get Tumblr and post a bunch of my fic starters there. I tend to start a lot of new things when I finish something, but I don't have the time to follow up on all of them. Anyway, some of them are up [here](https://rotary-wing.tumblr.com/).


	4. Half a Year Earlier...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't shake the image of Yuri and Otabek's first meeting from my head, so I decided to add this prequel chapter.

_He doesn't know how to sharpen a pencil,_ Yuri thinks, furiously angry and besotted.

His deskmate in Katsuki's class is new, and he's been rolling his pencil the wrong way in his sharpener for a while. Yuri can't take his eyes off him. The idiot seems oblivious to his problem until he takes the pencil out of the sharpener and finds it as useless as before. He sticks out his lower lip, then bites it, staring at the pencil.

 _One of us is going to die,_ Yuri thinks. It's a toss-up between him choking from the bubbles of wrath in his throat or his deskmate dying of sudden strangulation brought on by Yuri's hands. Nobody has any business being that clueless at uni.

"Ah," the boy sighs and puts both the pencil and sharpener down, then turns to look at Yuri. "Can I borrow a pen?"

He is, of course, absolutely beautiful. In fact, Yuri forgets to breathe, blink, and speak because this boy has such a perfect arrangement of faintly visible freckles across his nose.

"Uh, hello?" the boy says.

"Pen!" Yuri says, finally reacting. "Yeah, sure. Here." He plonks the pen from his hand onto the boy's notebook and digs out another pen for himself.

"Thanks," the boy says and goes back to doodling in the middle of his notes.

There's something Yuri is supposed to do in class, but he can't remember what. He looks towards the front of the room where Katsuki is explaining something by the whiteboard. But Yuri can't grasp any of it. He feels like he’s back in middle school, raging with an unbalanced hormonal load. His eyes go back to his deskmate and the doodle he's finishing. It’s a duck. Yuri grabs the edge of the desk very hard.

"Nice duck," he croaks.

"You like ducks?"

Yuri doesn't give a fuck about ducks, but the doodle is cute, and the doodler himself is even cuter. He ticks all the boxes. Even the boxes Yuri doesn't want to admit exist. Dumb as a brick, hot as a furnace. Dark and probably sweet to taste.

"You want it?" the boy asks when Yuri says nothing.

"Yes. What?" Yuri wipes his mouth just in case.

"My duck. Do you want it?"

"Uhh. Sure."

The boy rips the page from his notebook and hands it to Yuri. "Thanks for the loan," he says, sliding the pen across the desk as well. Yuri stares at him in incomprehension until he realises the class is over, and the other students are packing their things.

"No problem," Yuri says and gets up, shoving everything into his backpack as fast as possible. He grabs the notebook page and hurries to the front of the class where Katsuki is wiping the whiteboard.

"Yurio," he says mildly.

"Who the fuck is that?" Yuri points at the boy who's now leaving the room, looking down at his phone. He's wearing a short-sleeve shirt, but has another button-up shirt tied at his hips.

"That's-"

"Otabek," Yuri interrupts. He's staring at the page from Otabek's notebook. The duck has a speech bubble that reads _Otabek Altin_ and a phone number.

"Yes," Katsuki says. "He's been taking my evening classes until now, but since there are so few advanced students there, he came here instead. Why?"

"He-" Yuri flails his arms. "What- I have to meet him again!"

"He'll be back for class on Thursday, I think..?" Katsuki looks at him warily. "Did he say something weird?"

"He's- No. He drew a duck." Yuri shoves the paper in front of Katsuki's nose. "Look!"

"Ah, yes. A duck." Katsuki pulls back, frowning. "Yurio, what's the matter?"

Yuri takes a few moments to breathe. "Do you know anything else about him?" he asks, succeeding in sounding—if not feeling—much calmer.

"He came here to study medicine," Katsuki says. "Like you."

"He's a med student?" Yuri digs out his phone and copies the number off the notebook page, hitting dial instantly. What are the odds, right?

"You do move fast," Katsuki murmurs. "Shall we?" He picks up his bag and heads towards the door, Yuri trailing behind with growing impatience as he can only hear the dial tone. Katsuki has turned off the lights and locked the door before there's an answer.

"Yah?" Otabek says.

"Hi, it's- Uhh. Duck," Yuri says, stumbling over his words and his feet. Katsuki takes his arm and pulls him along into the stairs. It's the last class for both of them on Tuesdays so they go home together.

"Hey, ducky," Otabek responds with more warmth, and Yuri has to clutch at the railing because his knees are about to buckle.

"Umm, my name is Yuri. You left your number," Yuri says quickly. "On the duck."

"Oh. Yeah. So what's up, Yuri?"

"Katsuki told me you're a med student too," Yuri says as Katsuki steers him out of the building and into early September warmth. "He says you've been in his evening classes until now."

"Katsuki..?" Otabek says slowly. "You mean the Japanese teacher?"

"Yeah. Yeah, him." Yuri blocks his other ear with a finger to hear Otabek's low voice over the murmur of traffic in the street.

"You're also a med student, then?" Otabek asks.

Yuri keeps imagining his mouth and the sweep of his eyebrows, and almost fails to react. "Yeah. For now. I might transfer into veterinary medicine," he blurts. "I like cats. And ducks!"

"Really?" Otabek laughs. "You done with classes for today, Yuri? Wanna go get some food together?"

Yuri, having been hauled into a tram by Katsuki, shoots up from his seat, ringing the bell for the next stop. "Yes! Yeah, I'd like that. I'm starving. Where do you wanna meet? Are you still at the language centre? I go to this noodle bar sometimes that's just around the corner. The noodles are terrible, 'cause, you know, this is fucking Russia, but it's kind of-"

"Sounds great. I think I know the place," Otabek says. His voice is so warm that Yuri wants to take a bath in it. "See you there in fifteen?"

"I'll be there!" Yuri says. "Um, bye!"

"Yurio?" Katsuki is looking at him with round, worried eyes. "You're going? Out? With Otabek?"

"Just noodles!" Yuri shoves his phone into his pocket and sniffs at himself to make sure he smells decent. His shirt's clean, at least, and he distinctly remembers combing his hair in the morning.

"Okay, but be careful," Katsuki says, like a parent Yuri doesn't need.

"What? Why?" This duck-doodling idiot can't be capable of doing anything harmful, unless the over-excited arrhythmia he's sending Yuri's heart into counts.

"Oh, nothing like that," Katsuki says just as the tram comes to a stop and the doors open. Yuri clings to the railing as he's being pushed out to hear if Katsuki has anything else to say. "I just thought he was a bit shy and distant. Have fun!"

Yuri waves at Katsuki through the window before sprinting back up the street, weaving through people. It's happening again. It always happens just like this. Just this fast and hard. Maybe it's a family problem. Viktor had been the same when he'd met Katsuki in Japan, and Yuri had been in the unfortunate position of hearing about it directly, maybe because in their family neither of them had anyone else.

"I must have him," Viktor had said.

"Oh no," Yuri had said. "Oh no," Yuri says again, in the present.

Otabek is standing outside the noodle shop, speaking on his phone. He's running his hand through his hair over and over again, as though he's irritated. Yuri stops and pretends he hasn't just run up the hill. The nearest reflective surface reveals he's red in the face and his hair is dandelion fluff, but there isn't much he can do about it now.

"Otabek," he says, giving a wave.

Otabek lifts his hand. "No, I really don't want to talk about that again," he says into the phone. "I'm doing something now. Call me later."

 _Yes, please,_ Yuri thinks. _I’m something. Do me now._

"Yuri?" Otabek has turned to look at him. "Why's your face so pink?"

"I, uh- It's the sun. It's such a weird September, right? So warm." He shades his face with a hand, both to lend credibility to his words and so he can see Otabek against the light. Sometimes when he sees attractive people, he can't put their faces together; he just sees one feature at a time. And he wants to climb those cheekbones.

They go into the tiny shop and order. It's one of those places where you're forced to rub elbows with other customers, but they make do at the counter-style table set up against the window with bar stools.

"So a vet?" Otabek says after slurping down half his noodle soup. Yuri has barely made a dent in his, being too busy staring.

"Yeah, well. Maybe. You know." Yuri shrugs. "I haven't decided. What about you?"

"I don't know either," Otabek says, glancing into Yuri's full bowl. "I came here to be with my ex. Well, she wasn't my ex then. I guess I lost my motivation after that."

"Oh. Fuck," Yuri says. Of course. He should've known. It's like he subconsciously always knows to pick the straight guy. But it still doesn’t stop him from staring and being overwhelmed.

"Are you gonna eat that?" Otabek says.

Yuri shakes his head and pushes the bowl over to him. The really frustrating part is that he always ends up befriending these idiots. It's not so long ago when he broke up with someone too. Or maybe a break-up isn't the right term for a relationship that never went anywhere anyway and was over in the blink of an eye. But Yuri still wasted almost a year on it.

"You watched me struggle with that sharpener, right?" Otabek says, pushing the noodles and veggies around with his chopsticks. He's got good technique with them, almost as good as Katsuki.

"Yeah," Yuri admits. His heart burns with the memory. It burns with disappointment and futile dreams. "I thought you must be an idiot."

Otabek chuckles. "Yeah. She told me to move out by the end of the week this morning so I'm not really feeling it today."

 _I know which one of us is going to die,_ Yuri thinks. _It's me. It's always me._

"I've been thinking of moving into the dorms," Yuri says even though he hasn't and he shouldn't and he's just met Otabek and there's no way it's going to work out. "So if you need a roommate..."

"You always move this fast, Yuri?" Otabek smiles. He goes to cover his mouth, but then seems to decide against it.

"Yeah, actually," Yuri says. He pokes the straw of his soda cup into his mouth and sucks on it, side-eyeing Otabek. He's doomed anyway. He has the guy's number. And the duck. "What of it?"

"I guess I like it," Otabek says. "Okay, let's be roommates."


End file.
